


Sirenum Scopuli

by Seaneta



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 10:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaneta/pseuds/Seaneta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crime scene summons came at three forty-three in the morning, and though no one was necessarily surprised Will Graham showed up sleep-deprived and drunk from exhaustion, everyone was taken aback when the man stumbled his way out of a taxi in a matching pajama set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sirenum Scopuli

 The summons came at three forty-three in the morning, and though no one was necessarily surprised Will Graham showed up utterly sleep-deprived and drunk from exhaustion, everyone _was_ taken aback when the man stumbled his way out of a taxi in a matching pajama set.

 

Seven hours prior to the call, Will arrived at his quiet home in Wolf Trap, Virginia, landing inelegantly on the nearest cushioned surface in a loud thumpf. He never took his work home with him, the house a sanctuary from homicidal designs and sadistic frames of mind. But the price of woodland serenity meant long nights at the academy, the sterile forensic labs, grisly crime scenes. Like tonight. And the night prior. And the night before that.

A previous director of the Federal Bureau once told the public a very alarming truth; there are at least 30 to 50 active serial killers in the United States. It was an ominous estimate, but every FBI agent knew it was a conservative approximation. Will guessed he dealt with fifteen in two years alone. Ten of those under Jack Crawford. Three just under one month. He considered making a graph to examine the possibility of a peak season for killers if his two main concerns weren’t sleeping and saving lives.

A wet nose nuzzled into his open palm, and the stifled tapping of paws on the rug stirred Will out of his stupor.

“Hey, buddy…” He slowly lifted himself off the edge of his bed in the living room, breathing deeply, “you guys probably want to go outside.”

The dog flap attached to the kitchen’s door was useful on days Will was caught up with work, which was often as of late, but he knew his companions didn’t really enjoy the outside without their owner throwing sticks for them or at the very least keeping them company.

Like a drunkard, Will stumbled into the kitchen, poured a random amount of dog food, then went out with the mob of animals. The cool air helped him wake up enough to change into lounge-wear and swallow a chilled glass of water.

Jack was relentless recently, not that he could blame him when children and good people were dying, but not only were hours of traveling beginning to wear on Will, but the stress on his mind threatened a crack not even Dr. Lecter could seal back up. His sleeping schedule became so erratic, Will’s body didn’t know when _to_ sleep. He missed his last appointment with Hannibal due to an impromptu nap in his car, the engine running in his stone driveway. His colleague insisted sleep was more beneficial to his health than a conversation, but Will still felt a twinge of guilt from the ordeal. If the problem persisted, he considered wearing a wristwatch equipped with a alarm every hour to keep him conscious and attentive.

In the warmth of the house, Will fell asleep petting one of the dogs while the others crowded around his mattress. He was swept into an immediate limbo of dreamy musings and relaxed muscles. Within seconds his lips parted, and the slightest sliver of saliva peeked from his mouth.

There were no sounds in Wolf Trap but the faint crooning of a lonely cricket, and a heavy night sky falling through the drapeless windows. The shadows served as a snug blanket, sending Will off to a dream of fishing with his late father in a summer bayou.

 

A sudden roll of a cool breeze reminded the FBI agents of the persistent autumn season as they carefully trekked through the cornfield. They went in pairs, not wanting to miss any evidence because of a faulty flashlight or misstep in the darkness. FBI vans shined their headlights on the gruesome murder while work lights surrounded the men going over the case details by a car. Papers were sprawled along the vehicle’s hood, held down by small rocks, as Jack Crawford briefed Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom on what, exactly, they were looking at. 

It was the early hours of the morning, or very late hours of the night, depending if one was trying to delay their working shift or hoping to get a jump-start. Either way, the news of a twenty-one year old university student with her organs missing and eyes gorged out was enough for Jack’s team to shuffle out of bed and grab their car keys.

But a bright yellow cab pulling up beside crime-scene tape made everyone pause. Jack stopped in the middle of his sentence, eyeing the aloof man stumbling out of the car and grimacing at the taxi driver who, apparently, was giving him a hard time. No words were heard other than a loud “ _no man’s land!_ ”, and Will gave the driver what had to be a generous tip in additional to the cost, before clumsily patting the window pane. The car stirred a dust storm when it drove off in a maddened haste.

Will walked toward his coworkers in his groggy glory and Jack, Alana, and Hannibal stood by the SUV as more of their team slowly joined them from the cornfield to stare curiously.

“Am I the only one disappointed his pants don’t have little dogs pictured on them?” Beverly couldn’t restrain the smile that crinkled her cheeks. She clicked off her flashlight without taking her eyes off the way Will unwittingly ruffled his hair into something that resembled more of a bird’s nest.

“Will.”

“Hm?” He shoved his hands into his cotton pants pockets, his jacket unbuttoned to reveal the matching shirt. The dark green duffle was just a bit too big, one that no one had ever seen the man wear which implied he grabbed it in the dark, or half-sleep, though it was probably both. Alana shot a look over at Jack, referring to an earlier conversation concerning Will’s deteriorating health. Jack had insisted Will was just as resolute with the work as everyone else. Alana persisted not everyone was diving deep into killer’s heads.

“Are you ready for this?” Jack scrutinized the way Will brought a quick hand up to wipe away drool that wasn't there. The man knew his limits, and he trusted Will on when to act on them.

An eager nod. “Yeah,” he rubbed his eyes again, leaning to his side to gauge the scene. In one moment, he absorbed the woman laying on top of broken cornstalks, face contorted and stomach ripped open. There were evidence markers all around, marking blood splatter and possible footprints. There was a single pole a few yards away, a sturdy and tall thing in the midst of the field.

“I’m fine. Couldn’t find my keys.”

_Couldn’t drive my car_ , Alana substituted, but kept her mouth shut.

“That the uh….” He twirled his finger at the scene’s general direction, trailing off but no one quite knew if it was purposeful, or if he just forgot he was speaking.

Both Jim and Brian moved to the side when Will headed in the direction of the corpse, nearby crime-scene photographers eyeing the spectacle that was the zombie but knowing well enough to not stare.

Beverly chuckled, both amused and trying to ease everyone’s concern, but it was Hannibal who followed Will without a sound.

He had dealt with Will’s hectic sleeping patterns before, tried to help him understand the root of the problem, and aid in his trials of overcoming the biological need in order to satisfy the demands of being a profiler. This was different, however; along the way Will stopped trying to put his body’s health at the forefront. There were dark rings under his eyes, he couldn’t balance his weight properly, he shivered despite the jacket.

Will stared at the crime scene more closely and Hannibal approached, examining how the man had more symptoms similar to someone intoxicated. Will Graham was in desperate need of sleep, possibly a few warm meals, and a break before the next case. To put it into Will's own words some time ago, he was a train wreck. And he was absolutely magnificent.

“No signs of struggle.” He rubbed along his shadowed jaw line, acknowledging the doctor’s presence. “The toxicology tests will come back positive. This girl wasn’t... _willing_ in this cult ritual.” He looked over at Hannibal, his eyes meeting the other man’s without any trouble, before stepping closer to the scene. Hannibal realized, with Jack too, Will had no problem with eye contact. Did he truly feel _that_ detached?

“You believe this was a religious group? More than one killer?” Hannibal couldn’t remember a time he studied something so attentively, not even _Primavera_ in the Uffizi Gallery, responsible for one of his very first kills, had caught his interest quite like this.

It took just over a minute for Will to secure the latex gloves around each finger, snapping his skin in the process. He crouched down and stroked one of the dead girl’s eyebrows. He nearly made the same mistake the forensic photographers did; confuse blood hiding in the short hairs for dirt. But if the killer had a knife on him, used it to scoop out her eyes, why did he use bare hands to tear away her abdomen?

“Perhaps it was part of the rite.”

Will stumbled getting back up, but waved away the man’s hand when offered. “Sorry,” Will looked at him strange, “Didn’t realize I said anything.”

For a stretch of time, Will examined the corpse with slow eyes, occasionally looking at the surrounding cornfield and a farmer’s shed a mile or so away. Hannibal patiently watched, knowing behind them some case workers began to gather their equipment and shuffle into cars. For many, their work was done. Take the necessary photos, record details, interview anyone onsite or close by. It was a routine, a carefully calculated system. No guess work or danger of going off the deep end. That was Will’s job.

He stood with feet apart, a hand gripping his hipbone. Eyes squinted somewhere faraway, and he looked over at Hannibal twice before finally asking, “How…far away do you think that post is?”

Will wore glasses to serve as a barrier between himself and others, going as far as to purposely slide the frames down his nose so they obscured his vision when speaking with someone. This wasn’t a matter of impaired sight as it was a matter of exhaustion. No, this was an instance of Will not believing his body could carry him to the wooden plank.

Hannibal took advantage of Will’s sleepy confidence, meeting those hazel-blues. “Three meters, perhaps.”

Another rogue breeze swept passed the fields and blew some knotted strands over Will’s brow. He ignored his body shivering and walked, almost tripping, a few feet until he was between the rod and the dead girl.

“Ten feet. The average…the average…for standing long jumps. That’s…uh, ten, twelve feet?"

This was Will with inhibitions stripped. This was Will as his mind still desperately tried to drag its tires out of the mud. Hannibal watched, amused, as he studied the area, took his notes, and spewed it back out in a cerebral movie playing just for himself. Hannibal noticed his fingers twitching at his sides, and he imagined Will on all fours, ripping this woman’s flesh open and taking what was inside, motions quick and frantic so the victim would still be awake, watching her own intestines leave her, watching her own heart beat until it didn’t.

Hannibal inhaled deeply at the fantasy.

More time passed, and Hannibal could feel the eyes of Alana on his back as she approached. A slow burning began to fill his chest from frustration; he wanted to marvel without a clinical charade.

“I’m worried, Hannibal. More so than usual.”

“Will is suffering from chronic sleep deprivation. He hasn’t been getting more than small fragments of sleep the last two weeks. Possibly more.”

“And Jack knows. But he doesn’t care.”

“He cares, Alana.” Hannibal supplied, “Both Jack and Will are similar with their driving force. Both wish to stop the monsters. Will chooses to sacrifice his wellbeing and Jack must choose to overlook it. And I do what I can.”

“It’s a horrible arrangement.” Alana looked out at Will trudging through the dirt in his cotton slacks. The man was always a bit on the rugged side and now, robbed a night of sleep, he wasn’t bashful in showing off his feat of a conscious coma.

 

Alana, too, inevitably left. Will normally explored his emphatic meditations alone, but it went without question that someone should stay. Hannibal volunteered himself the moment he followed Will into the field. He had looked forward to a circumstance like this one the day Will slept through one of their appointments. He was art, a masterpiece just for him, standing in the field to be admired and not touched, not yet.

When Will found his way back to Hannibal, it was obvious the murder continued to play on loop in his head, fatigue making it easy for the killer’s mind to invade his, and linger. He sighed before speaking, eyes closing to find his bearings.

“A, uh, a scarecrow.” He looked back at the single stick in the field, “He propped himself up like a scarecrow. Caught her off guard, and jumped. An interview... with the farmer should clear some things up…why she was where...she was.”

“Let Jack handle it.” Hannibal adjusted a lock of hair on Will’s head, a failed attempt at making the bedhead somewhat civilized. Will pursed his lips, eyes following the retreating hand in distaste.

“I’m awake, Hannibal, I might…as well stay on the train if it’s still running.” There were odd pauses as Will spoke, eyes roaming as he tried to regain a grasp on the English language.

“A train needs fuel,” The doctor led them both away from the corpse and closer to the remaining cars. “I think a pit stop is past due.”

“My house…” he pointed in a vague direction, “I should call a taxi. It’s late…or early…you’ll get even...less sleep than I will if you drive me all the way… into Wolf Trap.”

“We’re by the Potomac River near Alexandria, Will. Your house is on the way into Baltimore.”

Eyes shifted as he tried to remember the drive to the scene.

A drowsy Will was a door to a strange, but hospitable reality where Hannibal found his person suit slipping. There was a truth there so genuine, it was almost heartwarming. He spoke candidly, like a child, but the words verified his mind still stirred.

“Wait.”

Hannibal stopped walking the moment Will did, looking over at him with a straight expression, waiting for a profound insight or normally private thought.

“I have to pee.”

Will looked around, searching for a wide tree or mass of bushes. He glanced back at Hannibal before jogging away, as though to make sure he wouldn’t drive off without him. The man indulged more openly than he was used to, thanks to the lack of company and Will’s obliviousness, and watched as Will ran, hands already clasped at his waistband’s button.

“I’ll warm the car for you.”

 

\- - -

If Will was a siren out in the field, then the car was Hannibal’s ship as he sailed to Sirenum scopuli. He did this with heart, well aware he was skirting danger, enjoying himself as he tested the boundaries of Will in his stupor. He was nearing delirium, caught in a limbo between consciousness and oblivion as he sat in Hannibal’s passenger seat, close and intimate.

Will _was_ a siren, his song more captivating than any work in a museum, and Hannibal gladly answered it with wholehearted abandon.

The car’s interior was dark, lit faintly by the glow of gauges on the dashboard. The road ahead was lit by headlights, the fields and small towns on either side of them blurs of colors as they rushed by. If Will wasn’t rubbing his eyes, his hands found purchase on the pajama bottoms, pinching the soft fabric.

“You may sleep, Will. I did not expect conversation when I offered to take you home.”

He pulled a strained smile, coherent enough to feel a thread of embarrassment, weary enough not to care. “Never…know when I will. Sleep.”

Hannibal glanced over as Will scooted lower in the seat.

“The moment I close my eyes, seems another…hm…another thing will…you know….wake me. Haven’t got a full night in a while.”

“You will. It’s only been a recommendation that you sleep, tomorrow I will make it mandatory. I will also inform Jack.”

“I went to a crime scene.” Will yawned, mouth open wide and silent. “In my pajamas.”

“Better that than nothing at all.”

“At least…your argument has solid foundation now. For Jack.” Will nestled the back of his head against the headrest. His eyelids were heavy, but he tried to fight the urge, not comfortable with the idea of sleeping in a colleague’s car. “I…um, might not follow your…your treatment plan.”

Hannibal smiled slightly. “I’ll mark your statement as a result of the sleep deprivation.”

A soft scoff settled at the base of his throat. “Not because I’m hard working? Dedicated to the…cause.”

The image of Will with arms nestled at his hipbones, giving a subtle shake by bushes, thinking he was concealed, flashed for a moment in Hannibal’s mind.

“Your failing health is the end result of your dedication. It is something Jack abuses. Something, by the way, you should stop overlooking.” Hannibal made a smooth turn onto an empty road.

At the silence, he turned to find a slumped Will, the seat-belt threatening to press into his neck. His eyes were closed, face relaxed with lips revealing a sliver of two white teeth.

 

It felt like drowning for a prolonged period of time, and the moment Will closed his eyes, he welcomed the plunge into water. It was invigorating, and he never thought drowning could feel so good. He crossed his arms, permitting consciousness to slip, and the gentle lull of the car’s engine filled his ears. For weeks, his body grew accustomed to this infuriating routine of a sudden shutdown, only to be awoken an hour or so later with a call from work, an alarm, or a student approaching his desk, asking when class would start. Anytime he was awake, it felt like he had to drag himself through dense mud. Even if this car ride wouldn’t be more than an hour at most, he still took advantage of the opportunity. Hannibal always had a gentle grace about him, he’d wake Will in the same way.

 

For the duration of the drive, Hannibal slipped the belt behind Will’s back, listening to the occasional snore or a gibberish murmur. He was unaware of small bumps on the road, every turn making his body lean toward Hannibal inch by inch, his head facing Hannibal’s as they approached Wolf Trap. The man treated the tastefully crafted leather-lined passenger seat as a pedestrian bed, but Hannibal didn’t want to place the chair on an incline.

He wanted to gawk, especially as the heat in the car slowly increased -which may or may not had been caused by a turn of the console knob- and Will, incoherent and fast asleep, tried to shrug his jacket off. He stared at Will’s body as it shimmied its way out of the coat, his eyes eventually forced away and back on the road.

Turning onto the humble driveway was the equivalent to a finishing line, and now everything, a trophy especially, would come effortlessly.

The house was quiet, the pack of bloodhounds asleep or otherwise occupied. Hannibal gave William one last chance, letting the Bentley rumble for a moment or two, then turned the ignition key.

He could hear the soft breaths of the other man as silence filled in around them, the car’s dimming lights unneeded under the sky of an almost whole moon. Will was slouched against the leather, arms loosely crossed after a failed attempt of removing his jacket. Hannibal tentatively reached across the short distance, undoing the man’s seat-belt and slipping the jacket off skinny shoulders. It bundled against the small of Will’s back and, even in sleep, he grimaced and tried unsuccessfully to rid himself of the layer.

Haunted circles were dark under closed eyelids, betraying the overworked man who had been desperately attempting to catch up on sleep. It didn’t take an expert to see that Will’s slumber was rushed and forced, not giving his body the proper attention it deserved. In under two hours the sun would rise, and Will would probably continue his routine of diligent profiler. Hannibal slipped the coat from under Will, folding and laying it in his backseat, creating a potential explanation for a visit or conversation for a later time. Hannibal, testing the other man’s boundaries this denied of sleep, leaned closer and stroked Will’s face with a feathery tenderness.

Fingers cupped just below one of those small, endearing ears -having fantasized plenty of smoking both appendages and savoring them- as his thumb gently traced the contours of a cheekbone. Will’s hair was chaotic in contrast to his peaceful expression, and Hannibal made sure to file the image away to save in his memory, hoping to draw upon it in any forthcoming moments of boredom.

His thumb moved more purposely now, circling Will’s cheek as Hannibal’s dark eyes studied. Both the touch and probing gaze made Will come back to himself, a low groan and fluttering lids dragging him out of the thick mud of oblivion. Hannibal didn’t let go of the rough jaw line, even as the other man began to shake the mysterious grip away.

“Hm…the dogs are…” Will’s eyes looked like fragile glass, seeing but not acknowledging the scenery or objects as he would fully conscious. He had trouble sleepwalking before and it appeared that this too was Will in a slow wave of sleep, the deepest level of a dreamless slumber. With this development, one aspect in particular stood out to Hannibal the most; _Will would not remember this episode._

A hand came up to hold Hannibal’s wrist, which was still pressed against Will’s cheek, but it was clumsy, couldn’t hold on for long.

“We’re at your house, Will.”

He looked at Hannibal, as though trying to remember who he was, then nodded, eyes rolling like marbles as he turned around and reached for the door’s handle.

Hannibal finally let go of the other man, helping himself out of the car so he could measure how well Will handled walking in his clouded state.

Just fine, apparently, although Will seemed more confused by the mechanism of a house lock than he was with the fact Hannibal followed him inside. Perhaps there was still some conscious part of Will that wanted to allow Hannibal his fun. And with the invite to delight in temptation, Hannibal found himself gladly accepting; especially if Will was asking for it.

The dark house was cool and blue in the dim moonlight through the windows. The full moon was a pearl in a cloudless sky, casting shadows in the living room as sleeping dogs paid no mind to their master’s late arrival.

Hannibal immediately crowded Will against the closest wall, his coat inching up as he lifted hands to cup Will’s face. A predator entered the house with Will, and suddenly there was an emphasis on the difference of height between both men, a surreal awareness of how broad and solid Hannibal’s stature was.

Cool hands traced down a dazed Will, dropping to his waist to hold him more steady against the wall, pinning him. He had contemplated sending Will to the bed, pushing him onto the mattress to see what the man looked like under him, but he decided to keep Will standing, keep him in this perfect midpoint. The only sound was the creak of Hannibal’s shoes and a soft gasp from Will’s mouth. There was a rustle of clothes, a trade of saliva, and a collapse of an exceedingly structured composure.

Hannibal didn’t try to keep from overwhelming Will, this weird and wonderful clip of time too precious to restrain oneself. Their mouths slipped off center when Will began to choke for air, eyes confused.

“Shh, I’ve got you, Will.” Hannibal sandwiched the weak man between him and the wall, cradling his head with a tender hand while his mouth roamed along the rough jaw line and to his neck. He couldn’t bite, couldn’t sink into the flesh deep enough to leave any marks, so he licked, savoring the taste as he would a gourmet meal from his own kitchen. But this was a fresh serving, its heart still beating its siren’s song.

Hannibal pressed an open-mouthed kiss against thin, pale skin, tongue tracing the jugular vein as hands multi-tasked, pinning the limp body while enjoying their fill. He worshiped the body Will had no control over, appreciated it in a beautiful sort of way no one else ever could.

In the blue-hue of twilight, Will shined like polished pearls, breaking under Hannibal’s touch. His stomach contracted under the shirt’s fabric, an erection easily visible through the cotton material of his bottoms. Everywhere was firm, compact muscles lean but always hiding under baggy clothes. Hannibal unbuttoned the pajama shirt, admiring the torso in both its lack of scars and fragility. A line of hair trailed down to a small patch coffee-colored curls, and Hannibal eased the waistband down to slip a hand under. The same moment he grasped Will, his mouth vibrated against wet lips, the deep hum commending what his fingers were enveloped around.

“Hannibal-”

There were perpetual possibilities behind the gasp of his name; an exclamation of ecstasy, a realization of awakening terror, perhaps even a disassociation, where Will’s mind had construed this strange happening into a session in Dr. Lecter’s office. Whatever the case, the leeching monster bent slightly to kiss Will deeper, leaning in closer, lost in his mouth, the smell, the warmth. Will, even as a shell of exhaustion, consumed him like a wildfire. He belonged to Will. And one day, conscious, willing, Will would belong to him.

Hannibal continued to stroke the other man, listening to hitched breathing in the dark as he busied himself with devouring Will. Hannibal didn’t _kiss_ ; lips met skin and he sucked and marveled, but he did it with dark intentions, an imposing possessiveness that would engulf Will if he was awake.

Will was not articulate enough to speak anymore, but Hannibal could see the warmth of his cheeks and the flutters of his body. The man was close, eager to let the impending climax serve as another relief if sleep was not the alternative.

A cool hand stroked the length, teasing its tip, as the other released its hold against Will and let his upper body keep the man standing. He ran fingers along Will’s throat, ghosting the collarbone, feeling each rib in the ribcage and circling the small navel. He reveled in the soft sturdiness of perfect skin.

There was a long, but strangled groan that escaped Will, drawling out his voice in pitch low enough that some dogs perked their ears and one whined. The doctor parted his legs in a more domineering stance, asserting himself between Will and a curious Labrador, and felt the beginnings of a release in his hand. Hannibal watched, seeing the haze in Will’s eyes, the set of those dark lips. It made him shiver.

Hannibal was merciless down below, rough then tender, grasp tight then loose.

“Hann-” Will’s hand reached down, down to the hand between his legs, but he seemed so confused he couldn’t even touch Hannibal’s grip, unable to wrap his mind around the ordeal. “Dogs-”

Hannibal locked onto Will’s lips in a devastating impact, relishing before pulling away as he continued to tease Will like it was a normal occurrence.

“Would you like to stop?”

Eyes couldn’t focus, shifting every which way. Will swallowed, hands falling back to his sides.

“You’re beautiful, Will.” Hannibal didn’t catch the shorter man blinking rapidly and licking his lips, he was too occupied with the task in his hand, the goosebumps he caused as his tongue swept over an ear’s lobe. Will began to choke on his own saliva, shoving himself against the wall in desperation as the hand changed tempos.

Then it suddenly came in a single rut of his hips, his entire body crashing apart by the tsunami of sensation.

“Wha…” His body never stopped pulsing, eyes aching. Will tried to hold himself up by the base of his palms, reaching behind for support as a different kind of fatigue washed over him, a stunning afterglow bathing his skin. He looked worn, stumbling a bit as he wiped at his wet lips on the back on his hand. When Hannibal stepped slightly back, slipping a smooth handkerchief from a pocket, Will slid straight down the wall.

“What…Hannibal?”

Hannibal cleaned each of his fingers, watching as Will’s mind tried to grasp what he felt. He was panting, confused breaths choking deep in his throat and it made a heat in Hannibal rise. Eyes were still glassy, vacantly staring, his pants still shoved halfway down pastel thighs. _Will Graham will be the end of me._

“I think...my head hurts?”

Hannibal kneeled, dabbing the soft tissue between the other man’s legs, cleaning with motions bordering on affectionate. "You fell, Will."

He tucked the handkerchief away and helped the other man come to a stand. Eyes roamed as Will offhandedly pulled up his pajama bottoms, like no one else was in the room.

“Sometimes…?” He drawled, eyes still unfocused as a hand came up to stroke through matted hair.

“Come,” Hannibal led Will toward his bed, and two dogs sensed their owner approaching, groggily standing, shaking, then hopping off the mattress. The moonlight made the short walk an easy one, it not difficult to see and step over random dogs.

The smell of canines would have been overwhelming if it wasn’t for Hannibal’s nose too keenly focused on Will and his afterglow.

“I…” He stopped at the foot of the bed, enraptured as Will’s shoulders began to shake. The man tried to muffle laughter, wearing a mischievous smile on his face. Hannibal only smiled as he guided the man to sit on the bed’s edge. He was outside the reigns of normalcy too, in this strange twilight zone, a place close to reality save that Will was happy and Hannibal was able to show his true self. Just _one_ of those aspects was exceptional.

“I do…feel great. I should sleep more…often.” Will rambled as Hannibal walked around him, moving the pillows closer lest Will decided to collapse. The man twisted his arms high above his head in a reaching stretch, rolling his shoulders to loosen any knots. “Your eyes…are different. Hm…dark.”

“Does that scare you?”

Will stared at Hannibal for a few moments before answering. “No.”

He couldn’t help but preen at Will’s sudden sociability.

“I notice it…sometimes…sometimes when you think…I….don’t. You _do_ interest me. Lecter. I…” Will scooted further onto the bed, sinking on the mattress while that relaxed smile stayed on his face. The moment his head found a plush pillow, Will’s eyes fluttered, but for whatever reason, chose to stay open.

Hannibal sat at the foot of the bed, watching the man struggle to keep conversation.

“You need to sleep, Will.”

“You need to…too. Sleep. You have, uh…” a limp hand came up, aiming in Hannibal’s general direction. “…stress lines. There. And there.” He tried to sit back up two separate times before rolling onto his side instead. The bundled sheets below him, not properly fitted or made on the bed for some time, didn’t deter Will’s body in seeking comfort. Hannibal couldn’t see his eyes where he sat, but his eyes never left Will, never left the legs curled up like a dogs, or the slowly rising chest.

“I trust…you, Hannibal.” Will murmured, yawning, “I trust you all the time. With my life.”

The body truly was a work of art, and like a lovesick student, Hannibal wanted to understand every brushstroke of thought, the reason behind every remark and gesture. Greedy, he also felt the compelling urge to move his hand up and down the angles and slopes once more, wanting to send the man off to sleep with his touch.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

Will threw his forearm up, vaguely gesturing to the space he occupied with a sweeping flourish. “You can…if you want…with me…”

“Will?” he prodded, not lost on the implication, but his only answer was a sudden but soft exhale. A new pattern of breathing. Will had managed to fall asleep, but this time it didn’t seem rushed, didn’t seem like he was sleeping because he knew he _had_ to. It was pure fatigue, welcomed and long-awaited thanks to his current company.

Eyes shifted to the ray of light easing onto Will’s head, and the sun began to creep through the eastward window. Losing track of time was not a common occurrence for Dr. Lecter, and it almost surprised him to realize it was daybreak. Two hours easily arrived and had left, the tease of a car ride giving him only a quick indulgence with the other man.

Without a stirring of any dogs, Hannibal vanished like a ghost, his curiosity satisfied for now. He had Will, though a bit disoriented, and began to understand the inner workings of his subconscious cravings. It seemed to match Hannibal’s own, though not on the same level of intensity.

 

Wolf Trap was quiet at night, and the early to late morning was the generously slow transition period of calling birds and the forest brewing with daily life.

When Will Graham woke up, it was to the loud sound of siren. Fumbling in his bed, upsetting his dogs in his blunder, Will blinked rapidly, clutching his head as he listened to the eerie call and realized it was autumn; mating season for most deer and moose.

He groaned, falling back down and burrowing into a pillow, eyeing the clock on the wall that told him it was 4:30 in the afternoon. Hell, the setting sun blaring into his eyes from across the room told him that.

The next sound to jar him were the patient whines of a few pets, begging for food or water or a fun outing. Will evened his breathing, ignoring the moose’s wail, and waited a few moments to gain his bearings.

_What happened last night?_

He sat up, legs scooting to the side and finding the cool wooden floor.

_Will. Are you ready for this?_ Jack’s grimace appeared clearly in his head, and Will had the overwhelming urge to just fall back onto the mattress, dogs be damned. He rubbed his eyes before tentatively judging his pajamas, suppressed the wince, then tried to recall what else he could of the embarrassing endeavor. There was a crime scene, a man with a knife lunging, Hannibal, Alana, peeing into a patch of bushes...

“Christ…” He continued to rub his head while walking across the house and out the back door. The air was chilly, but his body had managed old sleepwalking episodes outside, so why not now.

Will watched his dogs piss and play, ready to whistle if they decided to investigate the howling moose.

As much as he tried, memories of the night were unclear. He remembered calling for a taxi, and he wanted to believe he took a taxi home. What he didn't want to remember was how much that fee had been.

Perhaps a memory-exploring exercise could be suggested during his next meeting with Hannibal-

_-need sleep, Will_

It suddenly felt hot regardless of the weather, and Will immediately bit into his tongue at the rogue fantasy playing in his head.

He saw Hannibal often, discussing both business and pleasure on their own time. They had dinners together. Walked his dogs. But copious amounts of time with ones friend and psychiatrist didn’t warrant a wet dream of _Hannibal kissing him_ , especially if he woke up on clean sheets.

But it wasn’t a kiss.

He had inhaled Will, breathed out his name, stoked his body, swallowed him whole.

He called the dogs back when the scene couldn’t stop looping in his head, tried to reason his thinking as he filled bowls with homemade food, shook his head to clear the strange funk of his mind. He hadn’t got more than a few hours of sleep in a long while, it was just difficult to cope. His dreams, it seemed, dived a little too far into his subconscious.

But as Will ventured back into the living room, a note with familiar handwriting didn’t help the rationale. He walked toward the nightstand, frowning as he picked up the notepad.

 

_Will,_

_I took the liberty of driving you home after a poorly timed investigation, and I made sure you found your bed without injury. I trust you have slept well and will continue to do so, particularly once I forward my counsel to Jack in regards to your health, or lack of. I hope you’ll forgive me for the mandatory time off when I see you again at our next scheduled appointment._

_Warm Regards,_

_Hannibal Lecter_

_P.S. Please think of sleep as your new assignment. You are always appreciated company Will, but I would hate to participate in another lively conversation when I know you will not remember how engaging you are._

 

Will sat on the edge of the mattress, placing the note back on the counter so he could hold his head in both hands. Maybe he wouldn’t want to recall those memories after all. If he had showed up to a crime scene in lounge clothes and peed in front of numerous FBI agents (god forbid Lounds), Will didn’t necessarily want to know what he would have talked about, let alone done, in front of Hannibal.

Sometimes things are better left as a mystery.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just something that popped into my head which turned into a drabble which turned into this.


End file.
